


Lips That Unlock Doors

by AlulaSpeaks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8205379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlulaSpeaks/pseuds/AlulaSpeaks
Summary: Dean may have the lips that unlock doors, but it’s Sam’s mouth that drives Dean crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my season 12 countdown of 12 fandom offerings. 10 days left! This is the longest thing I've ever written in one sitting, and also my first time writintg smut. You can also find this fic on [Tumblr](http://alulaspeaks.tumblr.com/post/151321814542/10-days-lips-that-unlock-doors)

Dean knows how he looks. He can swagger into a room and draw everyone’s eyes to him. He knows what features he can play up to get noticed when it suits him. A well timed lick to his lips can unlock doors of all kinds. He likes it; he uses it.

Sam could do the same, but he never wants to. He carries himself so he seems small and nonthreatening, even when he’s objectively the scariest dude in the room. Dean get’s why Sam is so careful around civilians, but he doesn’t get why Sam is so reluctant to use his looks. People would fall all over Sam, if he would just let them get a look at him. Dean may have the lips that unlock doors, but it’s Sam’s mouth that drives Dean crazy.

Sam has this way of holding his lips sometimes, where they curl in just a little over his teeth. It makes them seem thin and pale. But get him after a hunt or in a moment like this right after his morning run, then you can see how full it is. When Sam’s got his shoulders set and his chest heaving, then his mouth is open and red and wet enough to shine. His goddamn lower lip gets such a shine on it.

Dean’s unashamed to admit he’s obsessed with it, but that doesn’t mean Sam needs to know. So when Sam says, “I’m gonna clean up,” on his way to the showers, Dean lets him go and he tries not to think about it.

When Sam comes back 20 minutes later, Dean’s still trying not to think about it. Which amounts to him sitting on the couch in the library imagining the plush give of Sam’s lower lip. shaking himself out of it, and then promptly contemplating what his mouth tastes like. So, it’s altogether a dismal showing in the willpower department.

Sam’s headed his way, but Dean is clearly not in the right head-space to talk to him. Dean means to walk away, go make them some breakfast or something, he really does, but just as he draws even with Sam he see’s the way Sam is biting his lower lip.

He stops dead in his tracks. Sam is reading a newspaper, deep in thought, so Dean should have a moment or two to just look at how pink Sam’s mouth is, but not five seconds later Sam says, “um, Dean?”

Dean should feel caught out but he’s too entranced. Sam’s lips are wet. Either from the shower or Sam’s own spit. Dean can’t help it, doesn’t even think, he just reaches up and thumbs over Sam’s lower lip and Sam’s breath catches on an inhale. Yeah, its just as plush as he imagined. Of-fucking-course.

“Fuck it,” Dean says and fists his hand in Sam’s t-shirt, pulling him right down into his mouth.

Sam’s hands fly up, grab Dean’s shoulders tight, and Dean lets the moment hang. His mouth pressed firm against Sam’s. He can feel Sam’s lips twitch before he pulls back just enough to say, “please.”

Dean groans presses his mouth harder into Sam, uses his fistful of shirt to drag Sam with him as he walks them backwards to the couch. When his legs hit the cushions, he sits, pulling Sam down with him and Sam climbs right onto his lap.

It makes Sam so much taller than him, but Dean can work with that. Dean sets his hands on Sam’s waist, moves him so he’s sitting back on Dean’s knees, body bending in an elegant curve to keep kissing Dean. It opens up space between them, keeps Sam from distracting Dean by pressing up against his body.

Right now Sam’s mouth is Dean’s sole focus and it’s amazing. It’s soft and sweet and the feel of it sends Dean’s blood singing. He licks across Sam’s lips, and then into his mouth. He tastes him from every angle. When he tries to pull back, Sam surges forward, presses into Dean’s mouth until they’re both groaning.

Dean finally draws back enough to get Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth, to worship it like he’s been desperate to with teeth and tongue and suction. And it’s not skillful; it shouldn’t be hot, but Sam is making these little whimpers on every breath. The air between their mouths humid with them. So Dean works his tongue over Sam’s trapped lip until Sam is squirming in his lap.

When he pulls back, Sam’s mouth is swollen, flushed the sweetest pink Dean’s ever seen. Sam brings his fingers to his lips, ghosts them across the skin of them, makes a sound like Dean’s got them so sensitive that the touch of Sam’s own fingers is turning him on.

“Fuck, Sam, look at you. Knew you’d be good like this. I fucking knew it.”

“Dean,” Sam says, face dazed and kissed stupid, but his eyes are locked on Dean’s and there’s a glint to them. Sam takes his own lip between his teeth, draws it out slow so Dean can see the crescent shape of each tooth in the flesh gone bloodless white.

“ _Christ_ ” Dean lunges forward, gets his mouth back on Sam’s, presses in hard. He gets a hand in Sam’s hair tugs once, sharp enough so Sam gasps and Dean can fuck his tongue inside.

Sam fists his hands in Dean’s shirt, tries to pull him closer, but Dean resists. He loves the space between them, that Sam is going crazy with nothing to rub his dick against. That Dean can get him this riled up with nothing but his mouth on Sam’s.

Sam’s hips roll into the air between them and he groans in frustration. He works his tongue into Dean’s moth, dragging the tip across the roof of his mouth, his teeth, angling his head to go deeper.

Dean breaks away. His breath is coming in in short gasps, his heartbeat a steady thrum in his cock. Sam’s dick is straining against the fly of his jeans and Dean wants to see it.

“Pull it out. Let me look at you.”

“Oh god,” Sam says and gets both hands working on his fly. He flicks the button open, unzips, and pushes his pants and boxers down as far as they go. But they get trapped above his spread thighs, bending Sam’s cock down exposing the thick root of it, flushed and veiny, nested in dark curls. Sam lifts up just enough to get his pants over his ass and pulls his dick out. It’s flushed red and leaking.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean says, voice gone to gravel, “show me how you work it.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Sam gasps, sounding torn apart, and grips the base of his dick, hard, like he could come just from this. Dean has to kiss him for that. Slants his mouth against Sam’s presses in and opens his jaw so Sam’s lips will part for him. He gets lost in Sam sucking on his tongue, but the second he feels Sam start working his fist, Dean pulls back to watch. Sam works his hand down to the root then up, twisting to rub his palm over the head. That’s about all Dean can take of that.

He slides his hands under Sam’s thighs where they’re pressed against his and up to cup Sam’s ass. He lifts, twists, and dumps Sam on his back, spread over the couch.

“Caveman,” Sam says through a smile.

Dean moves between Sam’s legs, one hanging over the edge, the other pressed along the back of the couch. He lays himself out, settles his weight on his forearms so he can hold himself just over Sam and look him in the eye.

“Been waiting on you for years, Sammy. You been waiting, too?”

Sam’s eyes go wide and he makes a wounded sound. He grabs Dean, palm spread wide against the back of his head, drags him up into a kiss so dirty that it has Dean’s hips fucking up hard into Sam, denim scraping against Sam’s leaking cock.

Sam reaches down between them with shaking hands. He grabs at Dean’s fly. The backs of his knuckles brushing against Dean’s skin, and he says, “can I?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on.” Dean pushes up on his elbows just enough to let Sam get at his fly.

“That how you like it?” Dean asks while Sam works at his belt. “You like being asked? I can do that. Want me to ask to touch you, make you feel good?”

Dean leans down, breathes over the bolt of Sam’s jaw.

“Can I kiss you here?” Dean says, stirring the fine hair on Sam’s skin. Sam shivers beneath him, digs his fingers into Dean’s waist, doesn’t answer. Dean nudges his nose along Sam’s jaw, waiting, but Sam just trembles.

“That a yes?”

“Yes, goddammit, yes,” Sam groans, his voice as low as Dean has ever heard it. Dean gets his mouth on his skin, scrapes his teeth against his jaw. He licks and sucks until the skin is tender and red with the shape of his mouth. He lifts his head, bumps his nose against Sam’s chin and moves to the other side of Sam’s jaw.

“Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes,” Sam breathes.

“Here?” Dean asks, moving down the column of Sam’s neck.

“Yes,” Sam says, arching into his mouth.

Dean works his way down Sam’s neck, asking, “here?” for every inch of skin he’s given and Sam always answers, “Yes.”

This might be Dean’s heaven, right here between Sam’s thighs with Sam saying yes to Dean on every breath and meaning it. Just letting Dean mark him up. He gets distracted by Sam’s throat, mouthing at it, scraping his teeth down the tendons, biting into his shoulder. So, it takes him awhile to realize that Sam’s shaking hands have stopped making any progress on getting Dean’s dick out.

“Need help?” Dean asks.

“Ye…” Sam starts – so ready to say yes to Dean – before he realizes what Dean said. “Oh, fuck off,” Sam says with breathless laughter.

He finally get’s Dean’s jeans open and shoves them down as far as they will go. Sam’s hands are huge and warm and the feel of them on Dean’s dick makes his whole body jolt. Dean’s already so worked up that he’s worried this will be over before he’s had his fill of Sam. But, Dean can’t help but look down between them, watch Sam bring their cocks flush together. The slit of Dean’s cock catches against Sam’s crown and electricity sears through him, white hot and so fucking good.

“Fuck, goddamn,” Dean groans and starts rolling his hips into Sam’s hand, to feel the way their cocks move together, to hear the broken sounds Sam makes.

He should get them undressed properly, head to one of their bedrooms but that would mean stopping the fuck of his hips, and Dean can’t bear to let Sam get an inch farther from him. So, he does the next best thing, shifting his weight to one arm so he can push Sam’s t-shirt up, get it bunched under his arms.

“What about here? Can I touch you here?” Dean asks, hand over Sam’s chest.

“Yes,” Sam says, “ _anywhere_.”

Dean runs his hand down Sam’s side then up over his chest. His palm slides over his nipple and Sam’s hand spasms around their cocks.

Dean smirks and sets to work, fluttering his fingers around Sam’s aureola, working in towards his nipple. Sam jerks beneath him, a blurt of pre-come making his grip wet, a shocked little, “oh” gasped on a breath. Dean pulls back, looks at Sam’s flushed face and he can read the surprise in it.

“So fucking responsive Sammy,” Dean says, but Sam just blinks at him, face flushing red and Dean’s gut clenches with the wave of want that sweeps through him.

“You didn’t know? Didn’t anyone take care of you right?” Dean feels a fierceness grow beneath his skin now that he knows that no one else has taken care of this part of Sam. He makes it his mission to show Sam just how good he can feel, while Sam keeps pulling at their cocks, firm and steady.

Dean feathers his fingers around one of Sam’s nipples, gets the other in his mouth. He keeps his fingers light and teasing but sets his teeth against the firm flesh in his mouth. He starts gentle, lets Sam’s breathing and his moans guide him. But Sam’s skin tastes so good and he shivers so pretty when Dean pinches a little too hard that Dean starts to loose it. He starts sucking on the nub in his mouth pulling at it with his teeth, feeding at it while his nails sink into the nipple pinched between his fingers. Sam just pushes his chest up into Dean’s mouth. The harder Dean chews the more Sam squirms.

Dean pulls off to blow against Sam’s wet, swollen nipple, but Sam whines, stops moving his fist on their cocks and fits his free hand to the back of Dean's head. Tries to bring him back down to his chest.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” Dean soothes, “I’m not done yet.” He press his thumb hard into the nipple he was gnawing on and brings his mouth to the other. Sam gets his hand moving again and Dean grins with his teeth clamped into Sam’s flesh. He works him, sucking and biting and flicking, until the roll of Sam’s hips becomes erratic and his moans skirt the edge of pained. He pulls back, and Sam’s eyes are on him, pupils blown and hungry.

Dean has to get his mouth back on Sam’s. He leans up and his shirt brushes against Sam’s chest, all pinked-up and raw, and Sam makes the sweetest broken sound. Dean bites at Sam’s mouth. Taking in every breath, sucking on his tongue, biting his perfect bottom lip. Sam’s got both hands between them now and he’s working Dean’s dick like he’s had a map to it this whole time. Every twist, every squeeze just right, pulling grunt after grunt out of Dean’s throat. Dean’s so close, heat spearing through his body, toes curling in his socks, balls drawing up. His chest feels tight with the power of it. He pulls away to catch his breath and makes just enough space for Sam to whine his name, the first splash of his come sliding over Dean’s cock, and that’s it. Dean’s gone. He’s coming into Sam’s fist while Sam jerks and shakes beneath him, right there with Dean in every way that matters. Dean kisses him through it, rides it out with the languid roll of his hips.

Dean let’s his body drag against Sam’s, kisses him one more time before pushing himself up to sit against the back of the couch with his wet dick hanging out of his pants. One of Sam’s legs is trapped behind him, and the obscene sprawl of Sam’s thighs, the white smear of their come over his chest has Dean’s cock twitching in a way that’s almost too much. He reaches down to grab Sam’s other leg that is still hanging off the couch and pulls it up across his knees.

When he looks over at his brother, Sam’s got a pretty flush spread over his chest and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth again and a buzz starts up under Dean’s skin.

“Goddamn, Sammy, your mouth,” Dean says and then lets his head roll back against the headrest.

“My mouth?” Sam tries to lift up onto his elbows, but his shoulders start shaking and he lets himself fall back onto the couch. “Jesus, Dean, I’m pretty sure you could talk me into coming.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows in Sam’s general direction, too fucked out to move. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh fuck,” Sam groans, and flops his arm across his face, but Dean can hear the smile in his voice.


End file.
